The soul of Hunan cuisine in two words (and it's not chili pepper)

Autumn has arrived, and keep an eye on your Hunan friends—they're making their first "luxury purchase" of the season: stocking up on tea seed oil!

In recent years, tea seed oil has frequently made headlines for its hefty price tag. With its unique fragrance that cuts through greasiness and removes fishy odors, coupled with its scarcity, a pound of high-quality tea seed oil can now sell for over a hundred yuan. It’s no exaggeration to call it the "Moutai of cooking oils." Even out-of-towners eager to try it often balk at the price: "Who could bear to cook with this?"

To spice-loving foodies, the soul of Hunan cuisine might be that fiery red chopped chili. But only locals know that tea seed oil is the unsung hero of their kitchens. Its subtle yet distinctive woody aroma forms the foundation of every dish—whether stir-fried or steamed. Only tea seed oil can bring out the tender freshness of free-range chicken, or the rich, savory depth of steamed ribs, cured meats, or fermented rice fish, making them the ultimate rice companions.

As the heartland of tea oil production with the longest history, Hunan people’s love for tea seed oil is etched into their DNA. A premium barrel of tea seed oil is a kitchen treasure at home and a coveted gift when visiting friends and family.

Beyond cooking, the all-powerful "Tea Seed Oil God" watches over every Hunan child in countless ways. It’s not just an edible oil but also a household remedy for bumps, bruises, and mosquito bites—just a dab from Mom’s hands brings relief. The scent of tea seed oil lingers in Hunan memories, woven into life’s fabric in myriad forms.

Many Hunan natives living elsewhere are slow to realize tea seed oil’s skyrocketing value. It’s only during Mid-Autumn or National Day visits home, hearing vendors shout "Eighty yuan per pound!" at the market, that they’re stunned to see their childhood staple now commanding such prestige. Yet, without hesitation, Mom still buys it: "No choice—cooking without tea seed oil just doesn’t cut it!"

Hunan’s southern location, mountainous terrain, and warm, humid climate make it a haven for oil-tea camellia trees. Here, gratitude for the crop runs deep. As China’s top tea oil producer, Hunan has woven it into culinary culture, making it the backbone and soul of local cuisine. While lard has its merits, it’s too heavy for poultry and meats. Only tea seed oil, with its woody aroma that withstands high-heat stir-frying, can truly cut through greasiness and neutralize odors.

Many love good food, but few pay attention to the oil used. Yet veteran Hunan eaters, raised on tea seed oil, can tell at a bite if a "tea oil chicken" dish cheats with substitutes. Free-range chicken shines when stir-fried in tea oil over medium heat—skin crisping slightly, meat juices seeping out as the oil’s fragrance permeates every fiber. Then, yellow chili peppers and ginger join the dance, culminating in a fiery, aromatic feast.

Take Dong’an chicken, a Hunan delicacy once served at state banquets. This fussy local bird relies on tea seed oil to "debut authentically." The oil’s high smoke point keeps the chicken tender even under fierce stir-frying, while soaking up the dish’s signature tangy-spicy broth until it’s "eyebrow-droppingly" delicious.

Beyond chicken, tea seed oil elevates most meat stir-fries. Yongzhou blood duck, dark and intense, gains a whisper of freshness; Chenzhou’s tea oil pork head with green peppers stays light; in Hengyang, the "home of Hunan chefs," masters swear by tea oil for raw stir-frying—no marinating or blanching. It banishes gaminess while locking in flavor, as in Hengdong crispy pork belly, quick-fried to a springy bite, or stir-fried frogs, where even the bones burst with umami after a tea oil sear. For Hunan natives, returning home to tea oil-cooked local dishes is a craving etched in memory.

Every Hunan child’s countryside childhood includes moments with oil-tea camellias. Each autumn, as the trees fruit and flower, walnut-sized tea oil nuts weigh down branches. Kids climb to shake them loose, filling baskets for adults to press into oil.

The nuts yield little—bags of seeds produce just pounds of golden oil—yet families use it generously. Beyond cooking, tea oil’s byproducts serve too: spent tea cakes wash hair; shells smoke winter cured meats... Hunan cherishes tea seed oil, and it repays them with endless joy.

How many more Hunan delicacies can it inspire?

Beyond stir-fries, Hunan’s steaming dishes, fiery as they are, lose their "soul" without tea seed oil.

Outsiders often ask: "Why add oil to steaming?" Locals wave it off: "You wouldn’t get it—just a few drops, and even licking the chopsticks tastes divine!"

Unlike most regions’ light steamed fare, Hunan’s versions are lush and rice-worthy, thanks to tea oil’s "match made in heaven" with chili and fermented beans. Meat gets blanketed with chili and beans, then drizzled with tea oil. Mere drops work wonders: steam carries the oil’s aroma deep into the meat, banishing gaminess. After cooking, the oil becomes a "lubricant," evenly coating each bite.

To Hunan gourmets, ribs and trotters belong steamed, not braised. For fermented bean-and-chili steamed ribs, tea oil—though unnamed—is the flavor catalyst. Stubborn dried chilies and black beans reconcile under its mediation, while the broth turns velvety, spoonable bliss.

Tea oil’s bond with Hunan steaming runs deep. In Qiyang, red yeast rice-coated steamed fish demands it—the oil ignites the rice’s fiery soul, delivering chopstickfuls that scream for mercy.

As a "socialite," tea oil adapts brilliantly. In breakfast steamed eggs, it honors the dish’s delicacy, yielding custard as soft as a baby’s cheek—a home remedy for coughs. Paired with cured meats, it doubles their richness, creating guest-worthy showstoppers that demand extra rice.

Hunan people cling to tea seed oil’s embrace. Even when far from home, unable to recreate a full feast, they pack at least this taste of "Hunan nostalgia" in their bags.

College students with Hunanese roommates have likely experienced their "care packages" upon returning to school—small packs of tea-oil fish, savory and crispy, sneakily setting tongues ablaze with spice; or tea-oil cured ducks hauled all the way from Hunan, still rich and flavorful even when cold, prompting sighs of regret from Hunanese friends: "What a shame, it’s best fresh out of the pot..." Before meals, they might pull out mysterious jars of tea-oil fermented tofu or bean curd, perfect for mixing with rice, noodles, or stuffing into buns. Meanwhile, spicy and crunchy tea-oil cucumber skins or radish cubes serve as the ultimate palate cleansers at the table.

Whether at home or far away, Hunanese folks are accustomed to life with tea oil. Even if expensive, they grit their teeth and stock up—less because only Hunanese understand its value, more because tea oil is steeped in a lasting nostalgia for home.

This article is original content from [Di Dao Feng Wu].